A Fine Day Indeed
by NotMarge
Summary: Molly Weasley has just seen her family off to the Quidditch World Cup. Whatever shall she do now?


I do not own Harry Potter.

I do love Molly Weasley. She could totally be my mom.

A Fine Day, Indeed

* * *

She lingered for a moment in the overgrown yard after they departed for the Quidditch World Cup. She could nearly see their smiles still hanging in the air, big and cheerful, full of excitement and glee.

Her boys, her _oldest_ boys, that was.

Bill, Charlie, and Percy.

One moment they were there, the next moment they were simply gone.

Aparated.

Bill and Charlie'd been doing it for years.

Popping up and pecking her on the cheek with a cheerful _hey, Mum! _and chuckling as she jumped and chided them, pretending not to be utterly delighted.

She'd never quite gotten used to it but that was alright. She didn't really want to.

Percy, however, was fairly new to Aparating. He'd passed that test with flying colors, of course, as he proudly did everything.

And he'd been a bit of a showoff ever since.

Room to kitchen. Kitchen to room.

Over and over again.

It had driven Fred and George and Ron a bit mad.

A smile flitted across her generous face even as it turned into a frown.

Percy, dear sweet Percy, trying so hard to be important. So important, so grown up, so perfect.

Sometimes she worried he would allow himself to be sucked into something he couldn't keep up with.

But he wouldn't listen to her or his father.

She just had to trust he would be fine in the end.

Then there were Fred and George, who never tried to be anything or anybody they never wanted to be.

Ever.

She had a strange sort of pride in them as well.

Always confident, always ready, always together.

Always a challenge.

Sometimes they made her exhausted.

Sometimes they made her cry.

Sometimes they made her laugh til she was fit to be tied.

But they were always hers.

Though on occasion she felt the desire to wrap them up and show them the short side of her tongue.

Or look upon them out in the world. Stride right up to them, hands on hips and declare 'Where _are _your _parents_?!'

She laughed at her own foolishness.

It would never work, though.

There was no denying they were hers.

That flaming red hair.

And her unquenchable mother pride and love.

For them, her Fred and George.

And all her children.

It was her core, her center, her beginning and end.

For her children. For her husband. For her family.

She'd worked hard to make a good family and a good home.

And they had all done well, even Percy.

Still, she'd had to refrain from biting her lip in nervousness when he'd just prepared to go.

But he would have seen and it would have hurt his pride.

So she consciously remained relaxed and calm on the outside.

And it'd gone fine, just fine, as she knew it would.

It's what she'd raised them to do, her boys. Go out confidently into the world and make their own way as they saw fit.

And she was proud they could.

She sighed.

Quiet.

It was very quiet.

Almost too quiet.

Just then an ugly little potato of a gnome ran past her foot, giggling wickedly. Crookshanks, the ugly, squat little pig cat hot on its heels.

Wherever had little Hermoine Granger found that ragged looking thing?

Still, it seemed to be entertaining itself quite nicely with the gnomes.

Molly Weasley shook her head and went inside The Burrow.

It didn't look like much to the discerning eye, but it was home.

Her home, these many years.

It hadn't always been so crookedly towering with quite so many rooms, no.

She and Arthur had added onto it over the years as their brood had grown.

It was creaky, it was shoddy, and usually a mess when the children were home.

It was wonderful.

Warm and inviting.

Cozy.

The house fit her, fit them.

It hugged them like a warm blanket.

She accidently stepped one of the twins' whizbang whatchamacallits and it shot out from under foot, shrilling like a banshee as it swarmed away into the depths of the house.

She shook her head in disgust.

A warm blanket sticky with jam, perhaps, she amended.

She caught sight of herself in a passing mirror.

Paused for a moment and sighed again. Put her hands on her generous hips.

Time passed so quickly, it did.

Twenty-five years ago, back when she was in Hogwarts, she'd been a bit more svelte. Curvy still, yes, but everything was decidedly more firm and well, _higher_.

Over the years, all the rest had gradually grown on her.

Seven children had a tendency to do that.

Well, that and good fry-ups.

Mmm, fry-ups . . .

And she knew she could find some spell or potion or some such to regain her girlish figure.

But really, what would be the point in that?

Silliness, it would be.

She might even have to start missing fry-ups.

And that just wouldn't do at all.

No, the generous frame she now carried beneath her hodgepodge of clothes was the roadmap of her life.

And she was proud of it.

As was her Arthur.

A secret smile crept onto her lips and her eyes flash a spot.

They'd had an enjoyable goodbye last night, she recalled with a blush.

She unconsciously smoothed down her hair as she moved on from the mirror and continued to move around the house, picking at this and that.

Ah well, nothing for it, that.

And she had better things to do today than priss and preen in front of the mirror and blush like a schoolgirl.

Loads to do today without the weight and care of her beloved brood.

Clean up a bit.

Then off to Gringotts, by way of Flue Powder, to collect some means to buy all the children's schoolbooks and sundries.

And then to the shops with parchments and parchments of lists to check off.

So much to do today.

Hardly a holiday at all, one could argue.

But that was just the way life was at times.

She went with it when it was and took her holidays when she found them.

Still, maybe there was time for just a little . . .

Moments later, Mrs. Molly Weasley sat comfortably at her fresh scrubbed kitchen table with a steaming cuppa in one hand, a copy of the Daily Prophet in the other.

The house was quiet and still.

After a fashion.

Quiet, soothing sounds provided for background ambience.

The enchanted needles knitted away in the corner chair, working on one of many Christmas sweaters for one of her many children.

The dishes rhythmically scrubbed in the sink by an age old brush.

The Weasley Family Wall Clock ticked upon the wall. Her at the house, all the rest of the dearies at the Quitchditch World Cup.

Molly Weasley raised her cup and took a leisurely sip of the warming liquid before her.

_Ahhhh . . ._

* * *

**No, she didn't forget Ron and Ginny. She's got thoughts for them too, of course. I just didn't get there yet.**

**Thanks to brigid1318, JavierCervantes, and Voodoo Mutant Child for your reviews!**

**Eveybody appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like.**


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